176 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



larity, and in the course of a few years it became recognized 

 throughout Britain as the most able and interesting periodical work 

 that had ever been published. 



In noticing the early contributors, it would not do to pass over 

 Mr. Robert Sym, whose pseudonym of " Timothy Tickler" became 

 as familiar to its readers as that of Christopher North himself. 

 That " noble and genuine old Tory," as the Shepherd calls him, was 

 Wilson's uncle, and in his hospitable house in George Square, alias 

 " Southside," the contributors to the Magazine had many a merry 

 gathering. He was a fine-looking, elderly gentleman, of uncommon 

 height and aristocratic bearing, his white hair contrasting strikingly 

 with the youthful freshness of his complexion. "Tickler," says the 

 Shepherd, " is completely an original, as any one may see who has 

 attended to his remarks ; for there is no sophistry there ; they are 

 every one his own. Nay, I don't believe that North has, would, 

 or durst put a single sentence into his mouth that had not proceeded 

 out of it. No, no ; although I was a scapegoat, no one, and far less 

 a nephew, might do so with Timothy Tickler.* His reading, both 

 ancient and modern, is boundless ; his taste and perception acute 

 beyond those of other men ; his satire keen and biting ; but at the 

 same time his good-humor is altogether inexhaustible, save when 

 ignited by coming in collision with Whig or Radical principles. 

 At a certain period of the night our entertainer knew by the long- 

 ing looks which I cast to a beloved corner of the dining-room what 

 I was wanting ; then with ' Oh, I beg your pardon, Hogg, I was 

 forgetting,' he would take out a small gold key, that hung by a 

 chain of the same precious metal to a particular button-hole, and 

 stalk away, as tall as life, open two splendid fiddle-cases, and pro- 

 duce their contents, first the one and then the other, but always 

 keeping the best to himself. I'll never forget with what elated dig- 

 nity he stood straight up in the middle of that floor and rosined 

 his bow: there was a twist of the lip and an upward beam of the 

 eye that was truly subhme ; then down we sat side by side and be- 



<ran At the end of every tune we took a glass, and still our 



enthusiastic admiration of the Scottish tunes increased, our energies 

 of execution were redoubled, till ultimately it became, not only a 

 complete and well-contested race, but a trial of strength to deter- 



* But all the papers in Blackwood, signed " Timothy Tickler," were not written by Mr. Sym, 

 Mr. Hogg notwithstanding. 



